I glanced out the window. The first plump droplets of monsoon rain hit the sidewalk so hard that they bounced like Ping-Pong balls. A steady patter tapped against the wooden roof. I wondered about the moon. It would be more than three-quarters full tonight.
We finished our chow, went downstairs, told the yoguan owner we'd be out, and pulled our jackets over our heads. Splashing through puddles, we trotted into the bustling center of downtown Taejon.
A wise man once said that the way to get rich is to ask a bunch of tomfool questions and listen well to the answers.
Apparently, this wise man had never been an American CID agent in the Korean city of Taejon. Most of the people we talked to didn't have answers. They were just frightened.
There isn't a very large American military presence in Taejon, and tourism in these parts is unknown. We might've been the first long-nosed foreigners many of these people had ever encountered.
Ernie wasn't helping matters much. He was impatient and surly, and the more people acted as if we'd just landed in a spaceship from Mars, the more Ernie felt compelled to feed into their neuroses and act weird.
At one shop that specialized in porcelain, he grabbed a teacup and sipped on it, slurping loudly. Of course there was no liquid inside. Ernie wiped the dust out with his tongue. At an antique furniture shop, he rummaged through an ancient hand-carved cabinet as if he'd stashed something there and forgotten where he'd left it.
It hadn't been a big problem finding the antique shops themselves. Most were clustered in the upscale shopping area downtown. At each place, I described the type of jade-carved skull we were after but every time I did, I received puzzled looks. No one had heard of such a thing.
I also described Lady Ahn. Everyone seemed intrigued by a woman so tall, so gorgeous, but no one had any leads for me. Until finally the face of one old crone puckered at the description. She pointed. A shop. Two blocks down the road, she said.
'The owner is very famous,' the old woman said in Korean.
'Famous how?' I asked.
'Famous in nightclubs.'
Her wrinkles drew in so tight around her lips that I was worried that her face might turn inside out.
Ernie looked at me quizzically, knowing something was up. 'We have a lead,' I said in English and switched back to Korean for the old woman. 'What's the name of this shop?'
'Rising Phoenix,' she replied. 'Very easy to find. The outside is as brightly painted as the owner's face.'
'What's her name?'
'The Widow Kang. But she never calls herself that.'
'What does she call herself?'
'Fifi.'
'Fifi? You mean like a Frenchwoman?'
'Yes. She thinks she's too good for Taejon.' The old woman shook her forefinger at me. 'But she's not. We're too good for her.'
On the way down the road I explained to Ernie what the old woman had said.
'Fifi? You've got to be shitting me.'
'No way. That's what she said. Fifi.'
'And this gal, this Fifi, is hooked up with this Lady Ahn?'
'Looks like it.'
By the time we reached the shop, Ernie and I were both drenched. The front was ornately carved, each wooden knob painted with vivid splashes of color. A shimmering bird lifted off of the branch of a cherry tree, scattering pink blossoms in its plumed wake.
'Damn,' Ernie said. 'This Fifi would fit right in on Madison Avenue.'
'She's not exactly a bashful maiden.'
We pushed through the door. A bell tinkled.
An attractive young woman in a short skirt and silk blouse stepped out from behind a glass counter and bowed. 'Oso-oseiyo.' Please come in.
She must've been about nineteen, short hair, cute as one of the hand-painted dolls lining the shop's shelves. After a long day of interviewing sullen merchants, Ernie couldn't help but grin.
He ran his hand through his short hair, flicked monsoon rain onto the wood-plank floor, and pulled out a package of ginseng gum. He offered her a stick. She took it in her soft hand, smiled, and bowed again.
'Fifi oddiso?' I asked. Where's Fifi?
The girl shook her head. 'Fifi's not here. Can I be of service to you?'
I decided not to translate that for Ernie. Vulgar retorts we could live without.
'It's very important that I talk to Fifi Kang immediately,' I told her. 'It has to do with Lady Ahn.'
The color in the girl's cheeks began to fade. She shook her head.
'Fifi is not here now. If you give me your calling card I will be sure that she contacts you.'
I glanced at Ernie, rolling my eyes. A look of disappointment descended on his face as he deciphered the signal-I suppose he had been looking forward to being nice to this girl-but he shrugged and shook the expression off almost as soon as it appeared. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to smash.
'We must talk to Fifi,' I told the girl. 'If we don't, my friend will become very angry.'
Her slim fingers began to quiver. 'You can't talk to Fifi,' she said. 'She is busy. She must not be disturbed.'
Ernie snatched up a crystal carving of Kuan Yin, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. Her long robes draped gracefully to her feet. Her face was as calm as the face of an eternally youthful goddess should be. No expensive salves. No face-lifts. Just eternal beauty. She would put Max Factor out of business.
Ernie surprised me. He didn't pulverize the statuette immediately. Instead, he walked slowly up to the frightened girl and faced Kuan Yin toward her blinking eyes.
'Do you know who this is?' he asked.
I translated. 'Nugu inji allayo?'
When the girl didn't answer, Ernie continued. 'It's you,' he said, 'and if you don't tell us where Fifi is, this is what's going to happen.'
As soon as the last word of translation had emerged from my mouth, Ernie flicked his wrist and slammed the goddess into the glass counter. Shards of crystal exploded into the air. The girl leapt away, shoving her cupped fists against her mouth, her eyes wide with fright.
'Fifi oddiso?' I shouted. Where's Fifi?
'The bathhouse,' the girl stammered. 'In the alley behind the shop. Not far.'
'And Lady Ahn?'
'Yes,' she said, nodding, pressing herself up against the wall, as far away from Ernie as she could get. 'She's there, too.'
Ernie looked at me.
'Jackpot,' I said and started toward the back door.
He gazed at the still intact Kuan Yin, kissed her on the top of her tiny head, and set her very carefully down on what was left of the shattered counter.
13
Since the Korean war, plumbing has come a long way. But in many areas of the country it's still primitive. People don't drink tap water, not unless they boil it first. Cold water service is provided almost everywhere, but hot-water heaters are still something few people in Korea can afford.
For bathing, people go to bathhouses. It's cheap and convenient and for many people somewhat of a social event.
Unlike the Japanese, Koreans don't take community baths. Women use one side of the bathhouse, men the
